


glacies flore

by ultalumna (yujael)



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Magic, Road Trips, Soul Bond, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, a take on Shiva!Prompto, and Niflheim Prince!Prompto, playing around with magic mechanics
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-06-28
Updated: 2019-07-07
Packaged: 2020-05-28 17:44:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19399192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yujael/pseuds/ultalumna
Summary: "Wait--slow down. I'm Shiva?""Heavens, no, my boy. It seems you are, however, the next best thing. Savour it. Bask in it.""I don't know if I want to.""Then my back seat cannot help you. Please vacate immediately."--When Noctis learned that he would be travelling to Niflheim for the first time to personally assist the Kingsglaive, this is not what he envisioned. When Prompto learned that he would finally leave Niflheim, this is not what he envisioned, either. Do they have complaints? Some. Regrets? Absolutely not.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> "I'm gonna stop hurting Prompto now," I said before posting this. It's fine though because the majority of this fic is actually Chill™ and I really just love me some setup. At any given time, I am thinking about one of two things: Shiva!Prompto or Garuda!Prompto. This one found a viable plot first, so here we are--flat on top of a fic all about people getting what they want in life. On the menu, we have magic shenanigans, several flavours of bonding, an accidental road trip, multiple characters going Full Dad, a weird uncle, and more! 
> 
> In other words, we're here for a good time, not a logical time.
> 
> I tried to add all relevant tags but I'm pretty sure I forgot some, so more might appear later. Enjoy :)

In the year 755, the tides of war shift, the turn dramatic and inexplicable. The strength and sheer size of Niflheim’s Magitek Infantry dwindle until the Empire is forced to fall back on its human officers. After so long relying on machines, however, they’re no match for Lucis’ Kingsglaive, the strength of its magic. 

The disarray in Niflheim is evident as Lucis begins to push back, but what causes it is unclear, a heavily guarded secret as positions are reversed and Gralea falls under siege. Rumours abound--a high ranking officer died; a court official died; infighting in the court. Nothing is clear until the Spire appears on an island north of the capital of Niflheim. 

The Spire is a tower of ice that overtakes the island, reaching for the sky, its peak resting above the clouds. Some think it’s intervention from Shiva, but the Glacian is dead and the Oracle has given no indication that this is untrue. Niflheim makes no comment about it. Trapped under siege, they cannot prevent Lucis from investigating, either.

The Kingsglaive, prepared to sail to the island, finds that they need only tread carefully across the tendrils of ice that radiate from the Spire. There, they find a building encased almost entirely in ice. A research facility hidden in the snow, out of the way of all the fighting. 

Inside, they learn that the ice may not be an Astral’s doing, but it is almost certainly magical. It rejects and welcomes the search party in turns--melting away one moment and freezing solid the next, curving smooth over the walls and ceiling and forming lethal stalactites between one step and the next. Mindful of their safety, the search party pulls back and establish security around the island. 

The Spire is definitely magical in nature, and there are only a few people that have what it truly takes to find the answers hiding within it.

| * |

After a three-day crash course on the proper operation of snowmobiles in the mountains of northern Niflheim, Noctis feels that it’s safe to say that he hasn’t had this much fun since in ages. Ignis would tell him that he’s not here for pleasure, but he’s found it anyway. He’d thought that his brief stop in Tenebrae would be the highlight of his first trip away from Lucis in years, but racing Gladio to the northern outpost is a hard contender, even when Ignis shreds the both of them and arrives first.

The Glaives waiting for them there look miserable in the cold, clearly missing the warm summer over Lucis right now. Noctis, layered up more than he’s ever been in his life, sympathizes with them. Ordinarily, even the harsh climate induced by Shiva’s death would be milder than what the coast is currently experiencing, but, well, this _is_ what he’s here for. 

The Spire juts up from the otherwise nondescript island just north of the outpost. It’s beautiful in a way, glittering like a crystal in the sun, but it’s also freezing everything around it. Noctis can’t even say that he doesn’t care because he does. He doesn’t bear any ill will toward the regular citizens of the Empire, the people living near the outpost just trying to go about their daily lives, and those are the people being affected most by it. 

So, here he is, ready to do his best to figure out what the hell is going on. He’s not exactly sure what he’s supposed to be looking for since the reports from the original search party had been kind of vague and confusing, but he’ll make the best of what he’s got.

Find the research facility currently buried in no small amount of ice and snow; find the source of the Spire; avoid death by Spire. Simple. 

“Take care not to jinx us,” Igns says just before Noctis slips on the ice under their feet and nearly goes sliding into the ocean.

| * | * |

It is simple, though. Jinxes mean nothing in the face of Carbuncle, who sits in the snow as if the cold isn’t even an issue and greets Noctis with a cheery purr as soon as he steps off the ice and onto the island. 

Time becomes strange, much like it always does in Carbuncle’s presence. It wavers and dims, and while Ignis and Gladio do still move, it’s all painfully slow. Every breath takes minutes and every step takes hours when Carbuncle drops in for a visit. Such is the way of reality when the dreamscape intersects.

Noctis’ phone chirps in his front pocket. He’d question it, since the battery isn’t made to operate in these temperatures and his group had been outfitted with chunky walkies instead, but Carbuncle does whatever he wants.

> _Hi Noct! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ_

“Hey, buddy,” Noctis says, crouching down before the spirit. “What are you doing here?”

His phone whistles with a message. 

> _Helping! (｡◕‿‿◕｡)_

“Well, I won’t say no to that,” Noctis admits. 

Short of his father dumping a library’s worth of materials that he’d weaselled out of reading as a kid on him, he’s not sure just yet how he’s supposed to go about fixing this Spire situation. Carbuncle’s presence, however, solidifies the hypothesis that something magical and potentially more dangerous than what the Glaives can look into alone is going on. 

“So, do you know what’s going on here?”

Carbuncle purrs and rubs up against Noctis’ knees as another message falls into the chatlog. 

> _The Spire is like a big house made of magic just like yours!_
> 
> _Niflheim tried to control it, but they couldn’t. So, they trapped it. ʕノ•ᴥ•ʔノ ︵ ┻━┻_

Made of magic just like his, huh? Nice to know he’s right about something so far. Noctis hums, pleased, then rereads the message.

“Wait. If it’s like a house, does that mean someone’s inside it?”

Carbuncle nods and begins scratching behind one of his ears. 

“They’re the one who’s trapped?” Noctis continues, venturing a logical guess. “Who’s in there?”

Carbuncle purrs again. Noctis phone dings with a short message that only half answers his question. 

> _A friend!_
> 
> _He needs your help, though (｡•́︿•̀｡)_
> 
> _The full force of the Crystal’s magic is pretty hard to control. It’s actually a miracle that your family can do it!_

Noctis can’t help but feel somewhat insulted, but he doesn’t have time to linger on the fact that he’s spent most of his life becoming one of the most proficient magic users in the history of his family and how it took no shortage of hard work to do it. Carbuncle has provided both answers and even more questions in one go.

The Crystal’s magic being used by anyone other than a Lucis Caelum is _supposed_ to be impossible, but so is Carbuncle lying. Either Carbuncle is not the spirit Noctis believed him to be, or it’s a very good thing that Noctis is here. 

Carbuncle doesn’t seem keen to elaborate, though. He hops to his feet, tail twitching, and Noctis knows after knowing him for so long that he’s about to leap on back to his own little pocket dimension. 

> _You can do it Noct! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧ I believe in you!_

And then he’s gone, just like that, and Gladio is tripping over Notis’ still crouched form as Noctis watches his phone battery die. 

“Fuck--what the hell, Noct?”

“I take it a certain someone paid a visit?” Ignis asks after coming to a stop just in time. 

Noctis pushes himself off the ground and puts his phone away, knowing it’ll stay dead unless Carbuncle deigns to return and give it another charge. He squints up at the Spire, the light reflecting off it almost painful to look at.

“Yeah,” he says, “that was Carbuncle. Left before I could get any solid answers, though.”

Gladio sighs. “I love Carbuncle as much as the next guy, but can’t a godsdamned spirit be straightforward for once?”

“Tell me about it.” Noctis looks back down. Just beyond the messy imprint left by his knees and Gladio’s staggering steps are a set of tiny paw prints. He follows them. “Let’s get going, I’ll fill you in on the way.”

| * | * | * |

There is a research facility, just as described in the original reports. Now that Noctis is approaching the entrance, he knows Carbuncle had been right--whatever caused the Spire to appear, the magic going into it and its effects feels identical to that of the Crystal’s blessing. 

He intends to try and do something with that confirmation, something along the lines of carving himself a path, but as he approaches the entrance to the facility, the ice around him begins to melt. It’s as if it’s providing an easy path to the door all on its own. 

“Intriguing,” Ignis comments. He follows in Noctis’ steps carefully as soon as they realize that the ice is reacting to Noctis alone. “We should still be on our guard. I don’t suppose Carbuncle had any information on _where_ this ‘friend’ is?”

They enter the building, greeted inside by one long corridor. The doors slide shut slowly, grinding and squealing all the way, damaged by the elements. For a moment, there are no other sounds than the whistling wind outside and the melting ice dripping from the ceiling. 

“Uh,” Noctis replies. His phone is still dead. “Nope. Didn’t get that far.”

“Hm. Well, perhaps there is a directory.”

There is a directory. Sort of. It’s the ice that melts to let them go in one direction and freezes to make them go in another. Noctis tries to latch on to the flow of it, tries to figure out where the person controlling it is doing so, but the signal, as it were, is too confusing--whoever’s here is barely in control at all. 

They wind up in the basement after Noctis almost slips on a patch of ice that hasn’t fully melted yet, just narrowly avoiding a tumble down the stairs and a snapped neck. The air is warmer, although Noctis isn’t sure what could be combating the powerful magic. Whatever it is, it’s enough to make even freshly frozen ice slick with a layer of melt. They tread carefully, then even more so as they approach a large set of doors. 

Standing between them and the doors is the first person they’ve seen in the entire facility. The thing is--the man in the white coat is frozen completely solid. His entire body is encased in clear ice that doesn’t melt even a bit as Noctis approaches. He’s midstep, hands held near his breast pocket as he looks over his shoulder in fear.

He’s running away from the doors, scared shitless.

Gladio whistles lowly. “What do you wanna bet that our ‘friend’ is through there?”

Noctis inhales deeply, exhales slowly. Magic is a tangled web all around him, every strand of it a force of chaotic energy--every bit of it flowing from somewhere very near. 

“He’s there,” he says, approaching the doors with a determined pace.

The doors don’t budge. Pressing against them prompts a small pad on the wall next to them to blink with red light. A mechanical voice, muffled by a sheet of ice, tells him that he does not have the proper authorization to go beyond this checkpoint.

“It appears we need a key,” Ignis says, carefully stepping over a small wall of ice that’s risen in Noctis’ wake. His attention is on the thwarted escapee--on the card just about to fall into his breast pocket.

“Make it snappy,” Gladio says as the ice wall continues to build, threatening to separate them. He kicks at it, breaking it apart where it’s still thin, but it only grows back in the time it takes him to wind up for another hit. 

A friend, Carbuncle had said. Someone who needs help.

Noctis runs his fingers along the top of the wall as it builds toward his shoulders. Magic thrums under his fingers--a Freeze spell gone terribly, wildly out of control. He can almost feel the heartbeat on the other end, weak and afraid. 

Thankfully, Noctis came prepared. 

“Let me try,” Gladio says from somewhere far away. “I’ll snap his whole hand off if I have to. I don’t think Noct can do both at the same time.”

No, he can’t. Noctis doesn’t know exactly what’s going on on the other side of the wall. It’s taking nearly all his focus right now to press back against the Freeze, to reach into the threads and tug them into some semblance of order, to _try_ to communicate that he’s not _fighting_ , but _helping_. 

It helps, he’s pretty sure. When he opens his eyes again the wall is lingering around his waist and the others can safely climb back over it, key in hand. 

The doors open and the air on the other side whooshes past them, slightly warmer yet again. Ice is still forming inside, but it’s even more slippery than before. Luckily, the walkway they find themselves on has railings to help them inch their way forward. 

The lab is a gigantic, round chamber filled with workstations and monitors and ice statues making a parody of the staff. The walkway surrounds a wall of glass that forms a smaller chamber in the center, but the surface is obscured by heavy frost and massive cracks, made more of thick ice than glass in some places, making it almost entirely opaque. If Noctis squints, though, he can just make out the shape of something suspended within.

Of someone who needs help.

He approaches the glass with the intention of having Gladio break it apart, but when he runs his fingers along the frozen surface, the ice melts before him and provides an entrance. Not one for missed opportunities, Noctis steps through. He doesn’t realize that the gap is closing behind him until he hears aborted shouts from Ignis and Gladio. He turns and almost slips on his heel to see the shadow of Gladio pounding on the ice. His voice is too muffled to make out behind the heavy wall.

“You…”

Right. He’s not alone. Noctis turns reluctantly to find the source of the hoarse voice. In the center of the chamber, a young man is trapped in a web of chains and tubes and ice. The chains are broken, winding loosely around his limbs, and only one tube is still connected to him. Everything else has been heavily damaged by the massive icicles and threads that extend from the man’s skin.

He’s naked, Noctis realizes belatedly. And _blue_ from head to toe, lips gone purple while his hair is nearly white. Frost patterns cover his entire body and ice is dusted in his lashes and hair, forming a circlet of icicles across his brow. His eyes are blue, too, but they’re hazy with magic and pain as he stares at Noctis.

“They said you’d come,” the man says, clearly exhausted.

“Who said?” Noctis asks. He glances at the prisoner’s bindings, wondering how he’s supposed to free him. His attention sticks on the one remaining tube and the familiar shimmering liquid inside. Ether. Noctis doesn’t know how the Niffs got their hands on so much of it, but that explains how a spell this powerful has been upheld for so long. 

“You feel... familiar. They said you’d help,” the man continues. The pain wracking his voice makes Noctis wince. “I don’t--I can’t make it _stop_.”

Noctis’ phone chirps. 

> _I did my best to keep him company… (｡•́︿•̀｡)_
> 
> _You’ll have to do the rest!_

“The rest…” Noctis looks up from the messages and finds Carbuncle perched on one of the icicles locking the man’s wrist to a loose chain. “What _happened_ here?”

“They put it in me,” the prisoner says, almost startling Noctis. Carbuncle is still next to him, but he isn’t affected by the loss of time. “I was--I can be _good_. _Please_.”

Carbuncle makes a soft noise and Noctis’ phone beeps. At the same time, a screen on the floor lights up--a cracked tablet dropped and almost entirely frozen over. 

> _You didn’t do anything wrong! ʕ •ᴥ•ʔ Noct can help!_

Noctis reads his own messages and feels a vague churning in his gut.

> _Shiva blooded him. They tried with others, but this is the only one she allowed it to stick with._
> 
> _She didn’t really stick around, though. 〳 •́ ﹏ •̀ 〵_
> 
> _Just asked me to keep him company until you got here._

“Then this is…” Noctis glances at the prisoner, the unnatural hue of his skin and hair, the impossibility of him being alive like this. “I thought you said this was the Crystal’s magic.”

> _It’s all god magic, isn’t it? ヽ（・＿・；)ノ_

“I… guess.”

> _Then it’s settled! (ﾉ´ヮ´)ﾉ*:･ﾟ✧_
> 
> _Any ideas?_

One, actually. Noctis would love to take it slowly, to give the prisoner the chance to figure things out like Noctis did, but Carbuncle had a point earlier. Magic isn’t easy, and if this man made the Spire, then he’s been suffering long enough.

“I can help you,” he tells the prisoner gently. “It might not be pleasant at first, but I can make this stop--right now.”

The prospect of any further discomfort doesn’t seem to faze the man at all. His relief is palpable, although his tears freeze to his cheeks almost as soon as they drip forth.

“Do it,” he pleads.

Noctis’ phone chirps once more.

> _Be careful, though. They use meteorite shards to keep the heat running. Once the magic goes away the ice might melt quickly._
> 
> _Stay safe! ೕ(•̀ᴗ•́)_

“Thanks, Carbuncle,” Noctis murmurs as time snaps back into place like a rubber band. He can hear Gladio again, but he ignores the pounding on the ice as he closes his eyes.

Silence is a relatively easy spell to cast, although he’s never done it before outside of training. The spell itself had been developed when a prince in ages past found himself at odds with his mad father, and every generation after him has learned the spell in case such a thing ever happened again. Noctis has never needed it, nor has he ever had to cut off a literal deity’s powers. He has to really focus to find the deepest threads of the prisoner’s magic--and snap them away.

The effect is immediate. The prisoner’s eyes are wide and sightless as he gasps and shudders. The ice and frost clinging to him melts and the web trapping him turns to water before Noctis’ eyes. Then, the prisoner falls.

By the time Noctis catches him, nearly slipping and falling backwards in the process, the man’s skin has faded from blue to pink, marred only by a smear of red blood where the tube had been ripped from his arm, and his hair has turned the colour of straw. His eyes are shut tight and they don’t open again when Noctis tries to wake him.

Behind him, the wall shatters with the force of Gladio barrelling through it. He and Ignis are both armed and ready for a fight, but they stop cold when they see nothing more than Noctis cradling an unconscious prisoner. 

The air is noticeably warmer and the ice is melting quickly. Noctis reluctantly lowers the man in his arms to the floor so that he can shrug his backpack off and dig through it.

“We’ve got what we came here for,” he explains quickly as he pulls a bundle of clothes out of his bag. Ignis had folded it so tightly that it looks like a small capsule that can’t possibly be the full set of extra clothes that it is. “This place isn’t gonna be frozen for long, though, so we’ve gotta go. Help me get this on him.”

| * | * | * | * |

The man sleeps the entire way out of the facility, away from the island with its melting Spire, away from the outpost and Niflheim’s frozen outlands. He sleeps all the way to Tenebrae, too, where Noctis only stops worrying about it after he’s assured three separate times that his Silence spell isn’t entirely to blame.

“In all likelihood, he’s simply exhausted and needs to recover,” Ignis explains during the train ride out of Niflheim.

The night they return to Fenestala Manor, Noctis’ phone is functioning properly again and doesn’t need Carbuncle to add any magical charge to receive messages.

> _He’s dreaming, but even in dreams, he’s very sleepy. (︶▽︶)_

Luna visits in the morning and smiles softly through Noctis’ concerns. 

“He may sleep for a while yet, but I can think of no one better to help him adjust,” she says as she arranges a handful of sylleblossoms in a glass next to the window. “Are you maintaining the Silence?”

Noctis nods, attention drifting down to the man sleeping in the bed. Keeping an active clamp on his magic-- _Shiva’s magic_ \--isn’t as difficult as he’d imagined, but he can feel it simmering under the surface constantly. 

“Only the Astrals themselves can take a blessing once it’s given,” Luna continues. “Perhaps it would be best to hold the spell until he is in Lucis. If you’re tired, I could assist you while you’re here.”

“Do you know a different way to do it?” Noctis asks, mostly as a joke. “It feels like I knocked him out with a brick.”

Luna’s laughter is a melody as she takes a seat on the edge of the bed. “I can certainly try; removing that brick of yours might coax him back to the living world.” 

| * | * | * | * | * |

He wakes up on the third night in Tenebrae. 

Noctis isn’t in the room, but he feels the shift. It’s his turn to cast Silence, and it’s business as usual for an hour when he feels ice shards prickling up and down his spine. It’s a phantom pain more than anything, a warning from his body that his spell is lax now that the magic he’s sitting on is no longer inactive. 

He wrangles the magic back again, then gets out of bed to check on their new friend.

He’s sitting up in bed, perplexed as he stares out the window. He turns to Noctis as soon as he enters the room and stares at him, too.

“Hey,” Noctis says quietly. “You’re finally up. That’s good.”

The man’s voice sounds like sandpaper as he asks, “Where am I?”

“We brought you to Tenebrae,” Noctis explains as he approaches carefully. “So, pretty far from where we found you, but you’re safe here. What’s your name?”

The man blinks a few times before the question seems to register through his surprise. “Oh, right. I’m Prompto...” he takes a breath as if he means to continue, but then he trails off, and Noctis frowns as he seems to pale, which is a feat for someone with his complexion.

“Prompto?”

“Yeah. Just Prompto.”

“Okay, then,” Noctis says as he finally reaches the small table near the bed, where a pitcher of water rests. He pours a glass, then offers it to Prompto. “Here, you sound thirsty.”

Prompto holds the glass in both hands like he isn’t sure he’s actually able to at first. When Noctis doesn’t take it back, though, he begins sipping from it. “Thanks,” he murmurs, his voice already leagues better. Then, out of the blue, “You’re the one who--Carbuncle? Said you were a friend?”

“Yeah. I’m Noctis. Carbuncle and I go way back; you can trust him.”

Prompto nods slowly. “Thanks,” he says again, somewhat distantly. He raises one hand and stretches his fingers out. “You found me and took the magic away.”

Noctis shrugs. “Sort of, I guess.”

Prompto looks up at him, brow furrowing. “What do you mean? I can’t feel it anymore…”

“That’s because I’m… Mm, how to explain it… I’m holding on to it for you,” Noctis says. “I cast a spell called Silence. It cuts a person off from their magic, so they can’t feel it or use it. It was the quickest way to get you out of there without hurting anyone.”

Prompto stares at the remaining water in his cup dejectedly. “Then I still have it.”

Noctis grimaces inwardly. “Yeah, you do. I can’t _take_ it away from you. I _can_ help you learn how to handle it, though. That’s why you’re coming back to Lucis with me. It’s the best place to learn how it works.”

“I’m going to Lucis?” Prompto asks. He sounds nervous, but Noctis can’t tell if he’s surprised or afraid. “Why?”

“Like I said--your magic. I can’t just cast Silence on you constantly. You’ll never be in control that way. You have to learn.”

“No, I mean--it’ll be okay?”

Noctis pauses. Then, he remembers Prompto was in Niflheim until now, remembers the facility he’d been trapped in. “If you’re asking if _you’ll_ be okay, then yes. Unless there’s a reason you don’t think so.”

Prompto taps one finger against the glass, then presses it down with the same finger from the opposite hand. The motion continues until he’s managed to wring his hands while still holding the glass. 

“Hey, listen,” Noctis says, breaking the silence as softly as he can. “Carbuncle made you a promise, right? He doesn’t break those, and neither do I. I said I’d help you and that’s what I’m going to do. You’re not going anywhere in chains.”

“My--they already tried to teach me,” Prompto blurts out. “It didn’t go well.” 

“Eh, a minor detail,” Noctis says, waving it off. “Lucis is kind of where this type of magic was born, you know? We can handle it. Do you _want_ to stay in Niflheim?”

Prompto shakes his head quickly. He laughs a little, but it comes out edged with hysteria. “I’ve never even been to Tenebrae. Lucis is practically imaginary to me.” 

“Well, it’ll be pretty real soon enough, and you have my word that you’ll be safe with my friends and I.”

Noctis’ phone chirps from his pocket. He shows the message to Prompto.

> _I’ll be there, too! (｡◕‿‿◕｡)_

Prompto manages a watery smile. He glances around the room, but Carbuncle seems to have only popped in long enough to put his word in, so he settles for murmuring, “Thanks, Carbuncle.”

“He’s got pull over there, too,” Noctis says conspiratorially as he pockets his phone. “So, it’s pretty late. Do you think you can get back to sleep? We can get into the specifics of everything later, but, honestly, you look like you could still use the rest.”

Prompto nods slowly. “I’m tired. Can I just… look at the stars for a bit?”

Noctis glances out the window, where the night sky is blanketed by thousands of twinkling lights. They’re beautiful, more than they’ve ever been behind Insomnia’s light pollution. Prompto looks up at them from the bed with quiet fascination.

“Yeah,” Noctis says. “Why not? I think I can see a couple constellations from here.”

He pulls a chair away from the nearby table and plops himself down near the foot of the bed. Prompto is mostly quiet as he points out different clusters of stars, but as Noctis speaks, he gradually relaxes, and Noctis feels the pressure underneath the Silence lessen until, when Prompto finally falls asleep again, Noctis can barely feel it at all.


	2. Chapter 2

Galdin Quay is a beautiful place. No--it’s gorgeous, stunning, breathtaking, one of the most amazing sights Prompto has seen since leaving Gralea. It’s _warm_ , too; cooled gently by the sea-- _the sea!_ \--and the breeze that makes the trees sway rhythmically. 

The beds they got to sleep in after the ship reached the pier as the sun dipped below the horizon were like heaven, too. Prompto had been reluctant to leave the soft sheets and blankets, afraid that he’d never get to feel so comfortable again, especially after having been dragged out of it in the first place--

But he’s not in Niflheim anymore. Far from it. And they still have a ways to go before they’ve really arrived at their destination. 

There’s only one problem.

“A rockslide?” Noctis asks incredulously, repeating the news out of Ignis’ mouth with disbelief. “Seriously?”

Ignis nods. “Unfortunately, although the term may be too gentle to accurately describe the state of the pass. It will take weeks before it’s safe to drive through it again.”

“That’s a bummer,” Gladio says. “We can still go around, though, right?”

Ignis clears away their breakfast dishes so that he can spread a map out in their place. “Of course; it shouldn’t take more than a couple hours or so to dip into Duscae, barring slight congestion while Saulhend Pass is blocked. We may wish to rest for a bit once we reach Longwythe, but from there it won’t be long until we’re back in the Crown City. Are you quite all right, Prompto?”

Prompto doesn’t realize how far he had leaned onto the table to see the map, to trace the lines under Ignis’ finger, until he sits up quickly and knocks his shoulder blades into the back of his chair. He flushes as he answers, “Of course! I was just curious is all.”

He hasn’t known these people for long, but he likes to think that he’s adept at reading expressions, even when he can’t see them properly. Ignis doesn’t believe him one bit, of that Prompto is certain. 

He doesn’t _dislike_ Ignis, but it seems to him that Ignis occupies a strange position in his escort. The others follow his instructions whenever he voices them, but he defers to Noctis on the weirdest subjects, like how much room service to order and where to stop for a quick photo. Noctis is the prince--the real, actual Crown Prince of Lucis--but he doesn’t carry the same aura as Ignis.

Prompto doesn’t wrestle with an invisible daemon around him, the fear that one misstep will wake him from this dream, despite all the reasons his father spat about Lucians.

Ignis doesn’t express any displeasure, though. Instead, he removes his glasses, wipes the lenses with a handkerchief, slides them onto his nose again and says, “Of course. It is your first time here, after all. How are you finding it so far?”

Prompto grins, and the sensation of it is quickly becoming less painful on his cheeks. “It’s incredible.”

| * |

“A word, Noct,” Prompto overhears from the passenger seat of the Regalia. They’ve stopped at a tiny sightseeing checkpoint in a place called the Fallgrove for a bit to stretch their legs, but Prompto had returned to his seat quickly. He’s still tired and sluggish, even after days of doing nothing else but sleeping, and the Regalia is one of the nicest cars he’s ever had the pleasure of riding in.

He can hardly believe that anything is real, still. 

“Yeah?” Noctis responds. They sound like they’re trying to be quiet, but Prompto hears nonetheless, as if the wind carries their voices to him.

“I’m curious as to your plans once we reach Insomnia,” Ignis starts.

Insomnia. Capital of the kingdom of Lucis. Enemies--friends. Far, far away.

“Uh,” Noctis says, to which Ignis sighs.

“You promised to educate him, did you not?”

“Yeah, but not out here. I mean, if you think I should, then, y’know, there’s a lot of open space we could--”

“Forgive me,” Ignis interjects. “Your concerns about control escaped me for a moment. You intend to maintain Silence until we reach the Citadel?”

“It’s the best place for it, isn’t it? I’ve never had to teach someone else how to do this stuff, and to be honest…”

There’s a pause, nothing filling it but the trees behind them. Then, Ignis, “Second thoughts?”

“No,” Noctis says quickly. “But you saw that tower, right? The Niffs didn’t make that. _I_ can’t make that. I figured I’d get him where it’s safest, ask dad if he’s got any advice, and go from there. Slow and steady.”

“I suppose that’s the best we can do,” Ignis says, conceding. Gladio calls to them from somewhere beyond the roadside, and Prompto hears the gravel crunching under their shoes. Just before they walk out of earshot, though, Ignis continues, “I’ve one other concern, though.”

“What about?” Noctis asks. 

The wind drowns him out. A moment later, Prompto hopes they aren’t talking about him anymore as he hears laughter, contemplating the idea of revealing that he hadn’t fallen asleep. Just as he comes to a decision, blinking against the light and stretching his arms over his head, he hears footsteps approach the car again.

“Hey,” Noctis greets. “Nice nap?”

“Yeah,” Prompto replies, turning in his seat to find Noctis sprawled across the back seats. “Are we leaving soon?”

“When the others are done playing with bugs, yeah,” Noctis says. He shifts around, propping his head up on his hand. “So, Specs and I were talking...”

Here it is--the catch.

“Are you nearsighted?”

Prompto blinks, unable to reply for a few seconds to the unexpected question. He hunches down a little. “I--is it obvious?”

Noctis shrugs. “Kind of. Ignis’s eyesight is crap without his glasses, too, so we wanted to ask what you thought about getting a prescription on the way to Insomnia and arriving tomorrow, or going straight there and getting checked out after. Or--do you know what your prescription is?”

Prompto nods slowly, but he’s almost certain his eyesight is worse now than it was before leaving Gralea. Sharp sight wasn’t deemed necessary for--

“Where would we stop?” he asks. 

“There’s a town called Hammerhead in Leide, not far from Insomnia,” Noctis explains. “If it gets late, we’d have to stay the night.”

Leide is mostly desert if Prompto’s memory serves him correctly. Not like Niflheim’s desert, though, riddled with icy tundra. He’s never seen Leide's before. He wouldn’t mind seeing the night sky there, either.

“I don’t mind,” Prompto answers. “It’s been a long time since I was given a new prescription, anyway. Are you okay with it?”

“I asked, right?” Noctis’ lips are blurry, but Prompto can see how they curve upward. “If it’s the magic you’re worried about, don’t. The Silence won’t slip up, and if I get tired I’ll just down an ether. It’s no problem.”

Prompto smiles back. He still can’t feel the magic--not a chill, not a shiver. That’s unbelievable, too, but, well.

Most things have been unbelievable as of late. 

“I really appreciate all of this,” he says. “Seriously.”

“It’s the least we can do after pretty much whisking you away,” Noctis says nonchalantly. He sits up, phone in hand. “That explains when I tried to show you King’s Knight, though. You couldn’t see a thing, could you?”

Prompto shakes his head. The game sounds super fun, but following Noctis’ voice while he pointed at a mess of smudged colour and illegible text had given him a headache. He knows his cheeks are red again, but Noctis doesn’t seem to notice. He just leans forward, contorting himself in a way that can’t possibly be comfortable to lean on the center console while still mostly seated in the back.

“Wanna try again?” he asks, this time holding his phone where Prompto can see when he squints. 

Prompto smiles wider. “Yes.”

| * | * |

There’s a neon orange sign on the side of the road. Prompto has no idea what it says until Noctis asks from the back seat, “Road work ahead?”

Ignis says in the next half second, “I sure hope it does.”

“Are you kidding me?” Gladio asks, flipping his book shut. He leans over to see around Prompto’s seat and says, “Damn, you’re not.”

The traffic hasn’t been so bad up until now; they’ve been able to keep a steady pace just under the speed limit. The car slows even further, though, as they reach what is undeniably a congested stretch of the highway. 

The streets of Gralea were jammed all the time, Prompto remembers. Having to sit in a stuffy car with the windows up and covered while traffic inched forward was always the worst part of his day. But here, sitting in the Regalia with the top down and the wind on his skin, Prompto finds that every time the car comes to a full stop as they approach the source of the jam, he could just fall asleep again. 

He almost does, too, except Ignis’ voice jostles him back from the edge. 

“Ah, of course.” His tone is deceptively light, especially when he follows up with, “We’re being detoured; they’ve ripped up the entire pass.”

Gladio’s book snaps shut again as he deadpans, “Seriously.”

Ignis hums. “Not surprising, considering how Longwythe has expanded recently. It’s been quite some time since these roads saw some proper repair, as well. Ah, the wonders of rejuvenating infrastructure.”

He says all this as the car takes a sharp turn and picks up speed again. Prompto peels his eyes open to see if he’d taken a U-turn and brought them back the way they’d come, but that doesn’t seem to be the case. 

“We’re _definitely_ not reaching Insomnia today at this rate,” Noctis says with a sigh. 

“Where are we going now?” Prompto asks, looking around, watching the vast stretches of green hills pass by. They’re only smudges of colour, but they’re infinitely more interesting than the blank canvases of the Niflheim outlands.

“We’ll have to go through Alstor to reach Leide now,” Ignis explains. “That’s in northern Duscae and _quite_ out of the way compared to our original itinerary. Apologies, Prompto. We didn’t intend on bringing you all across the kingdom.”

“We might have to if there’s road work in Alstor, too,” Noctis jokes. 

“I don’t mind,” Prompto says quickly. “Really, I don’t. I’ve never seen anything like this place.”

“You still haven’t,” Gladio says, reaching around the headrest to tap the crown of Prompto’s head. “Pretty sure you’re eyes are as bad as Iggy’s and he never takes his glasses off for a reason.”

“There will be crystal clarity in due time,” Ignis placates. “In the meantime, don’t mind the smell. We’re downwind from the chocobo forest.”

Prompto sits up and squints through the windshield. “A chocobo forest?”

Gladio snorts and Prompto doesn’t pick up on why until Noctis pipes up.

“You like chocobos? I didn’t know there were any in Niflheim.”

Prompto twists around in his seat and nods. “Oh, there are. I’ve only seen a couple, though. They’re rare and they stick to the woods, but they’re beautiful. I still remember the first time I saw one--it was massive and I still almost missed it because their feathers camouflage them so well in the snow.”

Noctis’ expression fills with so much confusion that it might as well be crystal clear to Prompto. “Really? Aren’t they kind of… too yellow for that?”

“Too--are chocobos yellow here?”

“Mostly. Are they white in Niflheim?”

“Mostly,” Prompto echoes. “I’ve heard of red ones, but I’ve never seen them. I think that subspecies might have been driven to extinction.” He settles into his seat properly and sighs. “Which is a shame. Chocobos are so good.”

The car is silent for a moment. Just as Ignis said, a faint, somewhat distasteful scent takes the place of conversation. Prompto knows it, though, as fuzzy as the memory is. It really has been a long time. 

“Specs,” Noctis says finally.

“Noctis,” Ignis replies.

Gladio flips a page in his book. 

“Specs,” Noctis says again.

It’s one of those moments again, Prompto realizes belatedly. Noctis is overruling for something frivolous. 

“We’ve already been detoured twice,” Ignis says. “Third time’s the charm, perhaps?”

Noctis leans forward and claps Prompto on the shoulder a couple times. Prompto turns his head, but Noctis is already sitting back, a smile on his face.

| * | * | * |

There is a memory, murky and blurry. He needs new glasses. They haven’t been delivered yet. His previous pair was shattered on the concrete. He’s bad at hand to hand.

But in the snow, it almost doesn’t matter. It’s beautiful, soft to touch, to see. 

In the snow, there is a chocobo. A creature so grand, it walks as if it knows. He can just make out its dark eyes, the curl of its crest above its head. He has no breath.

Behind it, another chocobo emerges, led by a gloved hand. Slightly smaller, just as blurry. His mother leads the chocobos away from the trees. He can’t see her face. His new glasses haven’t been delivered yet. It always takes so long.

“Give me your hand,” she says, gentle--booming. “They say chocobos can see the soul. They’re good to you if you’re good to them.”

He stretches his hand out and she guides it to the chocobo’s neck. Her hand is icy cold. He can’t see her, a giant lost in the Ghorovas Rift. 

“See? You’re wonderful.” Her voice is a melody--a language he can’t understand. It’s been so long.

| * | * | * | * | 

“Deep breaths,” Noctis says evenly.

“Sorry,” Prompto whispers. He feels the ice in him like a fire, a painful paradox, and doesn’t understand why. Why him?

He just wanted to go home...

“It’s fine,” Noctis assures him. “It’s my fault, if anything. I never had to cast Silence before this. We’re practicing.”

Prompto laughs raggedly. “Practicing.” 

“Mhm. Keep breathing. Relax your muscles and let it go at the same time.”

The chill fades away, but Prompto doesn’t feel like he had anything to do with it. Before--stuck in his own trap--he’d felt another presence in the web that he couldn’t disconnect himself from. It was like a physical presence touching him, pulling him back. He feels it now, too, even though Noctis isn’t touching him at all. He’s sitting on the ground nearby, arms resting on his knees, looking for all the world like he isn’t holding the magic of a goddess in the palm of his hand. Metaphorically, anyway. When Silence takes hold again, blessed emptiness, there’s nothing there at all. 

“Sorry,” Prompto repeats.

“You good?” Noctis asks. At Prompto’s nod, he continues. “Wanna see one up close now?”

Chocobos, up close.

They’re not as large as the sturdy birds of Niflheim, but the chocobos at Wiz’ Chocobo Post aren’t nearly as wary, either. They’re bright, friendly creatures, chirping happily in the distance. Prompto wants to run his fingers through their feathers so badly. He aches for it. 

“Yes,” he says and lets Noctis help him to his feet. 

| * | * | * | * | * |

There is a warmth in Noctis’ chest as he watches Prompto approach the chocobo at the edge of the pen, first with quiet apprehension, then sheer delight. He still feels guilty about the slip up with the Silence, even though he’s not sure how to explain how it had happened in the first place. One moment, they were approaching the enclosure and everything was fine. The next, Noctis felt the spike like a shock up his spine and he was struggling to keep it under control.

Later, as he’d rubbed the itch on his lower back, his fingers met frost, the heat of them melting the chill over his spinal cord. It scared him a little, but not as much as it had Prompto. Noctis redoubled his efforts, apologized, and promised to keep a tighter hold on the blood of the Glacian slipping between his fingers.

There’s nothing pressing back against his spell now, though, as Prompto reaches out and buries his fingers in the chocobo’s plumage. The chocobo practically purrs as it lowers its head and allows Prompto to hug it. Prompto lights up, and Noctis finds himself rooted to the spot as he watches Prompto smother the chocobo with attention and be smothered in return. 

How could this happen, he wonders. Where did Niflheim find him, drag him from, tear him away from? How does elemancy so powerful exist in him that Noctis has to focus constantly to maintain Silence on him?

How much longer _can_ he maintain Silence?

Hopefully, not much longer. The Citadel has wards built in for this--for kids running around with next to no control, for the next royal in line to learn their craft safely. Prompto isn’t a royal, but that’s the only difference. He’ll be safe, there. Unafraid. 

“Thanks for this,” Prompto says happily as Noctis approaches him and his new best friend. “You didn’t have to--”

“Eh,” Noctis cuts in before that line of thought can finish. “I think you deserve it. After what they did to you over there? The least I can do is let you hug a chocobo.”

Prompto laughs softly, lightly, a chime of frozen glass. “You know,” he says slowly. “When you told me I’d be coming to Lucis, I was kind of scared. Everyone always told me this was… um…”

“Some kind of hellscape?” Noctis offers.

Prompto shrugs bashfully. “Something like that. Trouble through and through, y’know? But… after what happened… it was kind of all I wanted. Anywhere was better and I’d have taken fire and brimstone over…”

“It’s okay,” Noctis says hastily. “You’ve got my word, though--whatever you thought of Lucis before, it’s not like that. I’m going to help you.”

Prompto smiles. It’s kind of like the sun shining on a field after it’s been layered with snow and ice--very nearly too bright to look at, but warm all the same. Noctis hopes his own smile returns half the sentiment. 

“Thank you,” Prompto murmurs before the chocobo before him begins grooming his windswept hair, and he returns his full attention to it. 

Noctis’ phone begins to ring only a moment later, and while he’d like to ignore it after checking the caller ID--after all, Specs can just come over here instead of calling--he quickly finds that the option is not there for him.

“Hi, dad,” he says a few seconds later. Calm and in control--he’s behind schedule, but there's nothing to worry about. 

“Hello, Noctis,” his father says evenly, only tinged with concern. “I’ve just read Ignis’ latest update…”

| * | * | * | * | * | * |

There is a car next to the Regalia in the evening. Bright red and decorated with tacky racing stripes. The owner is nowhere in sight, but Noctis has seen it often enough to know better.

He’d come to the parking lot to retrieve something out of his duffel bag, but that mission is forgotten as he turns on his heel and makes for the gift shop instead.

Prompto is there, gazing at a shelf of chocobo plushies and gripping a handful of gil like a lifeline. Noctis takes a pale yellow hat with a tiny chocobo sown into the rim and drops it onto Prompto’s head as he approaches. 

“Here; it’s only a few more gil,” he says by way of explanation. 

Prompto squints at a nearby mirror with vague confusion. “Cute,” he says eventually. “What for, though?” 

“Figured it might make a good gift,” Noctis says, shrugging. “Are you getting anything else?”

Prompto meanders away from the shelf. “I’m not sure. Ignis only gave me so much money…” he trails off as he gazes down at a thin, black bandana with chocobo tracks on one corner. 

“Depends on what part of your body you want a chocobo on.”

Prompto huffs a short laugh. He makes another circuit around the gift shop before landing in front of the bandana again and sliding it off its hook. He rubs his thumb against the fabric the entire way to the register. 

“Hey, so, I think there’s someone you should talk to,” Noctis starts when they’re back in the cool evening air. The chocobos are still clucking away, and the smell of them is buried by the restaurant nearby, where Ignis and Gladio are debating on what to bring back to the caravan for dinner. 

“When we reach Insomnia?” Prompto asks, uncertain.

“Here, actually,” Noctis says. “It shouldn’t take long, and then it’ll be dinner time.”

“Ah, okay. Who is it? Do you know someone working here?”

 _Who_ is a complicated answer. Noctis simplifies it to the max.

“So, there’s an uncle of mine--”

The questions in Prompto’s mind are obvious even before they fly out of his mouth. “The king has a brother? Out here? Are your royals always just--”

“He’s not my dad’s brother,” Noctis interjects hastily, waving his hands. “It’s--weird family tree stuff, you know? He’s my uncle. Technically.”

“And he’s… here.”

“He advises from a distance unless he decides he wants to get on the council’s nerves in person,” Noctis says offhandedly. “Or unless he wants something done. He’s like… the weird family quest giver, if that makes sense.”

“It kinda doesn’t,” Prompto says. “No offence.”

Noctis shrugs it off. “My point here is that he knows a lot about magic than I do. He might have something to say about all… this.”

Hopefully, anyway. Noctis might be the best in generations, but he’s never dealt directly with the actual, honest to goodness Astrals himself. Spirits like Carbuncle or Fenrir are much easier to interact with. 

“If you think it’ll help,” Prompto concedes. 

Noctis nods. “I’ll bring you over. Don’t lose the hat on the way.”

| * | * | * | * | * | * | * |

King’s Knight is still blurry, but when Prompto sits next to Noctis in the back seat of his supposed uncle’s car, it’s easy to lean over to see what’s happening on screen. 

“Yes, yes,” comes a lilting voice over the sound effects of the game, “have a seat! I’ve no prior engagements to attend to, nor any destinations to reach beyond this charming rest stop.”

Were Prompto not Silenced, he imagines that the man approaching the car--swaggering, rather--would have the same presence in his mind as Noctis does. A more prominent one, even, since everything else about him is _more_. The walk, the windswept order of his hair under his hat, the colour of his eyes, and the anachronistic clothing. 

Something paints him as _other_ , but without access to magic, Prompto can’t pinpoint what it is. All he has to confirm it is Noctis’ brief sigh and the strange man’s next comment.

“Good heavens,” he says, reaching into the back seat to tip the brim of Prompto’s hat, “where did you find that? It’s the most garish thing I’ve seen in years, and I’ve seen plenty of those, as well.”

Just then, Prompto understands why Noctis put the hat on him as he watches the man climb into the driver’s seat and remove his own hat, dropping it onto the dashboard. 

Prompto takes the chocobo hat off quickly, sets it on the headrest in front of him instead, and says, “Noctis thought it would make a nice gift.”

In the rearview, the man puts clear effort into not rolling his eyes. 

“It matches the car,” Noctis says blithely. 

The man--his uncle?-- twists halfway in his seat and scrutinizes Noctis. “My boy, I believe you’ve grown.”

“It hasn’t been that long,” Noctis replies.

“Hm, quite. One would think you’d be your father’s height by now.” The man turns his unsettling gaze on Prompto. “And what’s this? A stray for you to tote around?”

“You were aware that I was sent to Niflheim,” Noctis says smoothly, taking on a tone that Prompto has rarely heard during his day to day interactions when he isn’t actively _being_ a prince. 

“To investigate a matter most magical, yes.”

“Prompto was involved. Lucis is granting him sanctuary.”

“Ah, the protected becomes the protector.”

Prompto, tired of being spoken about rather than spoken _to_ , breaks into the conversation. “I was given to understand that you could help me as well, mister…”

Noctis’ expression takes on a layer of surprise in the corner of his eye. Prompto does his best not to look while the strange man seems to inspect him all the more closely. 

“Ah, forgive me!” He exclaims with an almost whimsical air. “I’ve yet to introduce myself. I am Ardyn.”

“Ardyn,” Prompto repeats. Not a single bell rings, but he forges on. “Noctis helped me out of a mess, but it isn’t over yet. Are you as skilled with magic as Noctis said? That’s really the only way I can see you helping.” 

Ardyn sends Noctis a cool look before answering, “I suppose that depends on what the little prince claims--but yes, I am quite familiar with the family business. I fail to see how you are, however.”

“That’s because I cast Silence on him,” Noctis says, then waits for the implications to set in.

Ardyn, for his part, hardly responds beyond his brow ticking up slightly. “Well, now, isn’t that interesting?”

Prompto takes a deep breath. Whatever Ardyn’s true rank is, it’s clear to Prompto that he’ll know everything soon enough by whatever means he communicates with Insomnia--and that’s _without_ the aura he carries that gives Prompto the feeling that Ardyn _already_ knows far more than he says.

So, Prompto explains as carefully as he can, why Noctis had to travel all the way to a remote island in Niflheim, freezing to death in the middle of summer because Niflheim wanted a weapon to go toe to toe with Lucis’ Crystal, and their single viable subject spiralled out of control. 

For a long time, Carbuncle, unable to enact any changes in reality, had been the only warmth, his only comfort. Everything else had been icy pain sinking so deep that his bones might as well have frozen, and the only sensation he could feel beyond that was the magic-- _his magic_ \--spreading and smothering the world around it.

At the end of it, Ardyn hums in a way that all but confirms that he knows too much. “And I take this little mishap has something to do with the empire’s sudden weakness? Ah, how the ambitious fall.”

Prompto had, quite honestly, been unaware of how the tables had turned until Noctis and Lady Lunafreya had walked him through recent events. They believe the empire’s inexplicable disadvantage to be connected with him--and they’re probably right. 

Niflheim built their army on his uncle’s work, and Prompto shattered it all. It’s no wonder Lucis gained the advantage--there’s no one left in the empire like Verstael Besithia, no one who can reproduce his work in his absence. Of course they haven’t recovered.

Prompto carefully avoids telling them this. Ardyn doesn’t seem to care.

“Yes, such blessings of the gods do occasionally have a nasty habit of backfiring quite spectacularly, don’t they?” He muses as if there’s no one listening. “Unfortunately, only the gods themselves can remove them, and _that_ chapter of the Glacian’s life has passed, has it not? Done away with by the imperial war machine.”

Prompto sighs, a sinking feeling in his belly. “So, there’s nothing you can do.”

“About giving and taking? Of course not,” Ardyn says loftily. “Although management may be another thing. The blood is yours, now, after all, and all the powers and burdens that come with it. I can offer advice, but what you do with it is none of my concern.”

“Wait--slow down,” Prompto blurts out. Ardyn’s explanation is backwards compared to what his uncle had deigned to tell him. 

Noctis had implied that this problem wouldn’t fade over time, but he’d also admitted outright to not knowing in the first place. It had given Prompto some kind of hope that everything would just blow over now that he was free and not at risk of receiving another injection. But now--

“I’m Shiva?”

Ardyn rears back as if stung--if he were the type to smile when getting stung, anyway. 

“Heavens, no, my boy,” he says through a hollow chuckle. “It seems you are, however, the next best thing. Savour it. _Bask_ in it.”

Prompto’s skin tingles until Noctis’ hand settles on his shoulder, a point of heat amidst the chill. “I don’t know if I want to.”

He wants, more than _that_ , to just… go home. He’d ached for years for his family to recognize him as more than they ever did, but not like this. 

“Then my back seat cannot help you,” Ardyn says dismissively. He turns away and waves at them. “Please vacate immediately.”

“There has to be _something_ you can do,” Noctis cuts in sharply. 

“Truly, I cannot,” Ardyn retorts. “If the Glacian does not wish to _be_ the Glacian, what can I do? I will not follow him as a shadow might, casting Silence and the like all day long. I’ve several more pressing matters to attend to.”

“Like what?” Noctis bites. Prompto tunes out whatever Ardyn’s reply might be.

 _If the Glacian does not wish to_ be _the Glacian_ …

But Prompto’s certain that he’d _heard_ the Glacian. She can’t be dead when her voice echoed in his head as he stood at the edge of the rift, freezing to life--

Except, he hasn’t heard it since. Only Carbuncle had kept him company after that.

The blood is _his_ \--not something to be metabolized, to melt away. 

But how can Shiva still--

There’s a sigh, and the sound booms in Prompto’s head. Somewhere, Noctis is touching him still, and it feels like a warm light reaching through a blinding snowstorm. But there’s another presence--something larger than Noctis, than life. Something so mighty and sharp that it doesn’t just reach, it _cuts_.

“Listen well, boy,” Ardyn says from some unimaginable distance in the blizzard. “It is not in my interest to babysit infant gods, and so I will do this for you but _once_. If by the time we meet again, you have not improved, then the matter will have little to do with control and there will be nothing more I can do. This is your lot, now, and the decision of what to do with it is neither mine nor His Highness’.”

There’s a snap, a half second of panic as Prompto’s senses are cut off and the warmth is gone and _he can’t breathe_ \--

\--and then he can. The blizzard is gone and he’s slumped forward in the backseat of Ardyn’s car, supported only by the almost bruising grip of Ardyn’s hand on his chin. Ardyn withdraws, though, leaving Prompto to smack his face on the icy surface of the seat in front of him. Noctis pulls him back almost immediately, helping him sit up with hands that feel like a bonfire against Prompto’s skin.

“I do hope you haven’t killed my car battery with that little storm,” Ardyn says conversationally, as if nothing had happened at all. “That would be something of an inconvenience, I must admit.”

“Sorry,” Noctis says, not at all apologetic as he chips away and melts the ice around them with his hands. And there’s a lot of it, Prompto realizes as he looks around blearily. The back seats, especially, are layered thick. Some has even crawled up the side of the Regalia in the next space. “You _probably_ won't have to get it reupholstered.”

Ardyn hums dryly and snaps his fingers. The ice is gone in an instant. “Now then, I believe that concludes our business,” he says airily. “I really do have places to be, so go on, run along.”

Noctis tugs on Prompto’s arm almost urgently before he can even figure out what to say in response. Prompto allows himself to be led away from the car, back toward the chocobo post. By the time they reach it, Ardyn’s car is gone. 

“Well?” Noctis asks expectantly. 

Prompto blinks at him, still dazed. “Huh?” 

“How do you feel?”

For a moment, Prompto doesn’t know how to answer. He doesn’t feel anything, really, beyond tired and sort of weightless. He feels more chilly than anything in the open air. There really is nothing else. Not even the solid wall of Noctis’ magic.

“I don’t feel anything,” Prompto says finally.

“Guess it worked, then.”

“What worked?”

“He cast a spell on you,” Noctis explains. “One I don’t know. It’s like Silence, I think, but it’s going to wear off slowly and at the moment it’s blocking, well, everything.” He rubs the back of his head sheepishly. “Turns out my version of it is only so effective in the long run. You might not have had so much trouble already if we’d been able to make it back to Insomnia when we’d planned.”

“That’s okay,” Prompto says quietly. “I really don’t mind being out here. It’s just… I’m really confused, is all.”

“That’s understandable. At least there’s an upside, though,” Noctis says, brightening. “If the spell works like he said it would, then you can learn magic almost like I did, and by the time it wears off completely, it shouldn’t be any trouble at all.”

“Are you sure about that? I mean--I’m not doubting you guys, but this whole god blood thing--”

“It’s all god magic, isn’t it?” Noctis asks, shrugging. “That’s what Carbuncle said, anyway. And I might not be able to tell you what you should be doing, but I _can_ help you figure it out. I gave you my word, remember?”

Prompto nods. Noctis know almost nothing about him, and yet he had made that promise. Prompto hopes, with a dull pang in his chest, that they can become friends, even though the same lonely ache is what drove him to this mess in the first place. 

Noctis smiles softly. “Then we can settle the big questions in Insomnia. For now, let’s just worry about dinner. Come on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> That went nice :D Mostly, anyway. Insomnia is going to be full of shenanigans. Writing the weird uncle was honestly fun, too. There might also end up being four chapters of this because who am I if not a writer with a complete lack of self-control? 
> 
> I also have a tumblr now! It's at ultalumna, and it's where I mumble about the writing process and post snippets of wips and maybe art if I ever get around to it. If you wanna yell at me about a fic you can send me a message there :D


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